Price of Immortality
by Theodur
Summary: Six years after her first visit to the Warden's Keep, the Heroine of Ferelden, the Grey Warden Queen Maythre returns to the accursed fortress, her intent dark and sinister - to continue the grim research of the blood mage Avernus.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: This tale is going to be fairly grim and disturbing, so consider yourselves warned. Don't complain later if you get freaked out by all the nasty stuff that happens! This is what makes blood magic evil, kids!

**Chapter 1 of 4**

Maythre paced restlessly through the upper halls of the partly renovated Warden's Keep. The air inside was chilly and damp, the few stoves they had lit seemed to give very little heat and they needed to save the firewood. There was no telling how long they would have to stay in this inhospitable place, far up in the Soldier's Peak. Maythre stopped for a moment, casting a glance at the landscape outside, pine branches heavy with snow against the backdrop of barren cliffs. And as usual, there was no sign of movement along the narrow road leading up to the fortress. _I shouldn't expect them so soon, they might need more than a week to get here, _she reminded herself.

It was a little over two years now since the armies loyal to Eamon had crushed Queen Anora's forces on the frozen plains near Gwaren. Anora had hoped that at the site that once ignited the spark of revolution led by Maric, Rowan and her own father, Loghain MacTir, somehow the spirits of ancient battles would tip the scales in her favour, but it was not to be. Between Cauthrien's tactical brilliance and Maythre's audacity and cunning, Anora's army was decisively routed. Even though Maythre had hoped to take Anora alive for a spectacular public execution that the citizens of Denerim were so fond of, the queen had refused to be captured, throwing herself on the tip of a sword when the outcome appeared inevitable.

_The queen is dead. Long live the queen._ Maythre thought. _Long live the queen, indeed._ She had twenty six or seven years left before the blighted blood in her veins killed her. For an elf, it might have as well been twenty six days. She hadn't married the old Arl and fought so hard to become the queen of this land, just to see her tenure be so laughably short. No, she was going to do something about it. That was why they had come here, back to Warden's Keep.

She flexed her fingers a few times before breathing on them, her warm breath bringing some measure of life back to the freezing limbs. She was nearly done with her own preparations, the discoveries of Avernus had been dissected and carefully studied dozens of times over, each and every pass yielding yet another idea, finding another small flaw that she knew could be corrected, expanding her own wild theories and giving them more solid credibility. There was not much she felt she could improve on now, they needed to get down to some real lab work, but for that she had to wait. In the meanwhile, all she could do was to study more and try not to freeze while doing so.

Maythre walked downstairs, through the poorly maintained halls, filled with broken furniture and collapsed pieces of plastering and other rubble. The Drydens had done good work with the second floor, but they had barely touched the main floor before Maythre had asked them to leave again. There was no need for witnesses of what was about to happen, and it was fortunate for the Dryden family that despite the unpleasant surprise that the request took them by, they chose not to argue against Maythre's wishes.

The creaking stairway leading down to the basement was dark and treacherous to navigate. Her hand grasped the wooden banister, cold and dusty, nearly making her recoil in disgust. But she kept holding on to it as she advanced downwards, where a sparse light greeted her arrival. The freezing chill here was even worse, and she supposed something would have to be done about it, if anything here was to survive for at least a week or two.

The basement probably should have been referred to as dungeon, Maythre remarked while staring ahead. Black metal bars of the many holding cells lined the corridor down all of its length. In the dim candlelight she saw a figure working, crouched on the floor, so deeply enthralled in their work that they didn't even sense her appearance. The smell of stale air and cold sweat assaulted her nostrils, as she watched Zevran slowly removing a loose metal rod from the ground and carefully setting it aside. Only then he took notion of her presence.

"Ah, did you finally get bored reading your old books?" he chuckled as she approached. "I wouldn't blame you if it were so!"

"Getting numb from the cold was more of a reason," she replied.

"Well, if you wanted to escape the cold then you came to the wrong place," Zevran said, then grinning mischievously. "Of course, I can think of several dozen ways how we could both work up some heat."

"I know you can," she allowed a small smile. "But I am concerned about this cold here, they might all freeze to death too soon."

"Don't worry. The stoves on the main floor actually extend partly into the basement," Zevran pointed at the end of the corridor. Maythre wasn't sure what she was supposed to see there, but she decided to trust Zevran. "We just need to light them, and they should give enough heat to sustain them for a while."

"Good," Maythre nodded. "How is everything coming along?"

"The chains have all been fastened, I have tested every one of them," the elf replied with a sense of pride in his voice. "They are in perfect condition. The only thing left is to check and replace some of the bars. But it shouldn't take more than a couple of days."

Maythre smiled in acknowledgment. If you wanted to build a safe, secure prison that nobody could escape from, who was the best fit for the job? Surely it was a rogue, someone whose trade occasionally called them to escape from places like this. There was a reason why Maythre trusted Zevran implicitly that everything would be in perfect order once their guests arrived.

"How many was it again?" Zevran asked suddenly.

"Eighteen."

"I was remembering correctly then," he said with a nod. Then, after a longer pause, he went on. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"I thought we had this conversation already," she snapped back, irritated. "Do I want to? No, I **don't** want to. But I also don't want to die. So I do this because I **have** to."

"I don't want you to die either," he looked up at her, for a moment looking a little desperate, until his cheerful confidence crept back into that cheeky smile of his.

"Then let us talk no more of what we must do," she said flatly. He held her gaze, nodding. There was no going back, and they both knew it.

* * *

><p>Three days passed slowly. One afternoon, after Zevran's caringly prepared dinner, admirably tasty considering their sparse resources, Maythre found herself sitting in the comfiest chair she had managed to find in the quarters of the former Grey Warden commander, Sophia Dryden. For once she was not freezing. Zevran had finished the last preparations of the dungeon the day before, and the morning was spent chopping up some of the old furniture to provide them more firewood. Well, of course Zevran had been doing all the work, while she had been sitting nearby and watching his impressive efforts. Considering that an axe generally wasn't his tool of choice, he had done very well.<p>

Now the stoves on all floors roared happily, filling the ancient keep with soothing warmth that it hadn't felt for years. The old furniture burned far too quick and gave off less heat than proper pine firewood, but it was still a big relief, buying them several more days of stay here at Warden's Keep. And hopefully that would be enough.

The pleasant absence of cold was almost starting to make Maythre drowsy, when suddenly she heard sounds coming from outside. Clanking of armour and chains, heavy footsteps along the snowy trail indicated the arrival of the guests they had been waiting for, of that there could be no mistake. She quickly dove towards the window, peering outside. Indeed, there they were, she would recognize Cauthrien anywhere, her powerful frame in the matted bronzed plate, atop her black stallion. Row of people in plain clothes followed her slowly, their hands tied behind their backs, chained together in irons. Several guards on foot circled the grim looking caravan, threatening the stragglers to move faster.

"Zevran!" she shouted. "They're here!"

"Already?" he yelled from downstairs. "I guess we better go out and meet them!"

Maythre put on a heavy robe over her shoulders and rushed outside, almost stumbling on her way. Now that they had come this far, all of a sudden she felt horribly nervous, and no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, her heart kept skipping like a spring rabbit. But nervous or not, it was like she had told Zevran, there was no turning back now. She took a deep breath and stepped outside, in her best imperious stride, Zevran following closely behind her.

As soon as Cauthrien saw them, she increased her pace, breaking off from the caravan and riding up to them. "Greetings, my Lady," she bowed her head. "Zevran," she briefly acknowledged the Antivan's existence, but didn't spare so much as a glance.

"It is good to see you, Cauthrien," Maythre said warmly. "I trust you had no complications on your way?" The tall woman's face darkened, and Maythre immediately turned to look at the row of people approaching. It didn't take her long to realize. "What happened? Where are the rest?"

"We had some difficulties. Can we speak in private?" Cauthrien never minced words, no matter how uncomfortable the topic was.

"In a moment," Maythre said quickly, peering in the distance and counting. "Thirteen, I see thirteen... is that right?"

Cauthrien nodded slowly. "I'm afraid so."

"Will this be a problem?" Zevran asked, concerned look on his face.

"I hope not. I don't think it will be, I arranged for more trying to err on the safe side," Maythre shrugged. "It will just have to do."

After a few minutes, the slow procession finally marched into the yard of the Warden's Keep. There was an immediate murmur among the guards and their quarry alike, as soon as they recognized the identity of their hostess. Whispered words, full of fear and piety towards the queen reached her ears, restoring her slightly ruffled confidence. In the time since she had been crowned, she hadn't been sitting idly and playing some kind of doe-like exotic trophy wife, she had been in the middle of each and every issue that arose in Ferelden, earning a reputation of someone fair, but also very ruthless and uncompromising, now being feared yet respected by the majority of her subjects.

"My Queen! I ask you, what is the meaning of this?" suddenly one of the chained prisoners shouted. "Why have we been dragged all the way here from Denerim? Something is clearly wrong here and we demand-" here he was stopped by a guard's sword pommel striking him square in the face, knocking out a few teeth and forcing a spurt of blood from the man's nose.

"Zevran, you will go help the guards. Together, I want you to take the prisoners to the dungeons, and make sure they are locked up tight." Maythre ordered without hesitation. "These men are the most dangerous criminals ever imprisoned in Fort Drakon, and we want to make sure they can't escape."

Zevran nodded and lead the way inside. One after another the guards ushered the confused looking prisoners after him, and a few minutes later Cauthrien and Maythre remained alone on the porch outside.

"We can go upstairs," the queen said. "Nobody will disturb us there." Her general simply nodded in quiet acceptance.

Once they were back inside, Maythre could no longer quell her anger and curiosity. "Enough stalling, I want to know what happened!" she urged the tall warrior.

"The guards, they got sloppy. One night, someone wasn't tied up tight enough, worked himself free of his bonds and nearly freed everyone else as well," Cauthrien explained. "We had to chase nine of them all through the dark of the night, and when we finally caught up with them, they decided to put up a fight. They wouldn't let themselves be captured, three were killed outright, one we had to leave behind because his injuries were too severe, another died day later from his wounds."

"Most disappointing," Maythre said. Her voice was calm again, but Cauthrien knew by now that only meant the queen was particularly angry.

"If Your Majesty says that it was my duty to personally check the bonds of all eighteen prisoners each night, then I will accept it as my fault and will face any punishment you deem fit," Cauthrien said without flinching. "I confess doing so for the first three days, and as I found nothing wrong, I decided to put at least as much trust into the guards. A decision I regret deeply."

"I'm not blaming you one bit, Cauthrien," Maythre said earnestly. The look on the general's face however told her that despite her words she was clearly blaming herself. "In fact, I am sure you did more than anyone else could have in tracking down the escapees. It is the guards that I am most displeased with."

"I would humbly suggest that this is taken out of their salary, but..."

"But we both know they are not getting paid," Maythre smiled coldly. "They don't suspect anything?"

"Not a thing. They expect payment back in Denerim."

"I'm wondering if we could use them instead of the escaped prisoners..." Maythre appeared thoughtful. "They are no longer of any use to us. What do you think?"

Cauthrien shook her head. "The nature of this task has left them very... on edge. Now that they have learned their employer was the Queen herself, they will be even more careful. Taking them by surprise would be very difficult, I would not risk it unless absolutely necessary."

"Very well, I will trust you on this, Cauthrien. We stick with our initial plan. You won't have any trouble going through with it, yes?" Maythre asked. "There must be no witnesses, you know it."

"It is as good as done. The way their mistake brought shame on me will only make it easier for me," the brunette said resolutely. "I only hope that I have not endangered your mission."

"We will be fine," Maythre smiled. "Now go and take care of the guards."

Cauthrien bowed deeply. "My Queen, if you are not back in Denerim within three weeks, I am coming to retrieve you from this damp, stinking hole," she said before leaving. "That is a promise."

"Don't worry, Cauthrien," the queen walked up to her and warmly shook the warrior's hand. "You will see me back in Denerim soon. Just take care of the guards, and we'll take care of... what we must do."

_What we must do,_ Maythre kept thinking, long after Cauthrien had left. _Even I recognize the evil of the actions I am about to take. But it is that or a lonely death in Deep Roads. The ones who put me through the Joining are just as responsible for what is about to happen. And I __**will**__ free myself of the taint... no matter the cost!_


	2. Chapter 2

****It is time for some... experiments...

**Chapter 2 of 4**

The next morning, Maythre had trouble eating anything for breakfast, despite Zevran's best culinary efforts. All she could do was to poke the food a few times with her fork and then set it aside with a heavy sigh. She chose to ignore her lover's concerned stare and simply stated she wasn't hungry.

"I guess I should cook something for them," Zevran finally said, nodding downwards. "This is going to take up a lot of my time."

"It'll take less time as we go on," Maythre replied, then realizing how grim it had sounded. "Don't be too generous." Zevran scowled but didn't say anything.

Maythre rose from the table. "I'll go to the tower and see if everything is in place. It shouldn't take me more than an hour, then you can bring one of them up."

"Does the lady have any preferences?"

"Zevran!" she hissed. "I don't actually know any of them, even my political rivals! To me they are all just nameless prisoners from Fort Drakon! I don't care… but if you must, bring the one who dared shouting at me yesterday."

"It will be as you wish," he replied impassively.

"And don't feed him, no sense wasting food."

"I wouldn't dream of it, ma'am."

"Stop trying to anger me!" she snapped, pointing a finger at him. "You know what to do, don't start some kind of drama with me."

"I didn't mean to," Zevran looked a little apologetic. "I guess I'm a little on the edge here."

"I understand," she managed a small smile, before departing from the room. "Just do as we agreed and everything will be alright."

Having crossed the stone walkway leading to the tower of Avernus, Maythre arrived at the old blood mage's sanctum, which over the past centuries had witnessed countless horrible, twisted experiments. Some of the walls had in-built cells with chains and hooks in them, filled with many gruesome implements Avernus had used over the years. Maythre wondered if he had actually kept his test subjects here, where they could watch others getting killed and slowly drained of their blood. She would have found it way too distracting. That's why they had renovated the old dungeons under the main keep.

She continued towards the middle of the great hall, where a very complicated apparatus stood, a relic of the great age of Tevinter magisters. She did not truly understand the mechanics that made it operational, but at least Avernus had left behind a very meticulous description of how to operate the tool. There was an open section on one side, which as she understood needed to be targeted with a magical spell, the energies of which would be collected and passed through the intricate looking midsection of the device, comprising of countless steel rods, thin copper wiring and glass tubes. On its front, the device had a sort of a beak-like protrusion that after the energy of the spell had circled through the wires and tubes, spewed out a tiny but concentrated blast of lightning. According to Avernus, the perfect catalyst to fuse blood and lyrium into something that had extended his own lifespan for centuries and nearly completely negated the effects of the darkspawn blood.

Maythre made a few tests with the Tevinter device, casting a few tame lightning bolts at it, watching the resulting discharge pass through a test tube fastened in its path, hit the floorboards and dissipate harmlessly. It was working quite perfectly.

Then there was one more device, the most hideous of them all. Together with Zevran they had pulled it out in the middle of the room, for it would see much use. It had a simple base frame made of steel, and several tight leather straps, designed to hold a body of a person tightly in place. Under the frame, there was a wide metal drain that stretched downwards, where a large glass jar was placed underneath. Many other similar jars were set slightly aside, awaiting their gruesome turn.

She made sure all the other ingredients were at her disposal. Several jars full of the purest lyrium, courtesy of Bhelen's gratitude. The remaining ashes of Andraste, nearly not as much as she would like, but it would have to do. Three bottles of darkspawn blood, a reagent for the control samples. Also on the table were several knives and a pile of clean towels, and many other less crucial implements that might come in handy in her disturbing task.

As soon as she had finished her preparations, she heard steps and sounds of slight struggle downstairs. After a while, Zevran forcefully pushed one of the prisoners inside, it appeared as it had tried to resist being dragged here.

"What are you doing to us?" he shouted, sensing danger. "Why have we been moved from Drakon? This is an outrage!"

"This one really doesn't want to cooperate," Zevran sighed, throwing the bound man down and kicking him for good measure. "Shall I gag him?"

"No need, he will cooperate," Maythre said simply, and launched a spell at the prisoner, who suddenly appeared docile, eyeing her with open admiration. "Untie him." Zevran complied without pause, realizing Maythre's intent. "Come here," the queen ordered the man under the control of her blood magic. "Step into the device here… place your feet there, that's right… Zevran, get those straps done… now, your hands here, and lean backwards."

The straps closed around the prisoner's hands and legs, rendering him immobile. Another strap was thrown over his brow, his head forcefully yanked backwards at a painful angle, exposing the throat. Zevran pressed a lever at the back of the frame, and it slowly rotated leaving the hapless man upside down, with his head right above the metal drain.

"Do you want me to…" Zevran started to speak.

"I want you to get out now," she snapped quickly, a tone that suggested arguing would be a suicidal course of action. "I don't want you to see what happens now, I don't want you to look at me when I… when I…"

"I'm sorry," Zevran said quietly, moving slowly back towards the door. Then he turned around and left. Maythre moved from her spot as soon as she heard the heavy doors of the tower snap shut behind him.

Maythre picked up one of the knives on the table. She looked at the hapless man, strapped to the bloodletting device. She had been very particular about choosing the victims from the vast supply that the cells of Drakon could offer. There were several rapists, serial murderers, counterfeiters, but most of those brought here had been imprisoned for their political views. Anora, while not widely loved, still had a strong following and the men and women loyal to her needed to be dealt with if peace was to be long lasting. This middle-aged man seemed to be one of those who had simply thrown his lot in with the wrong candidate for the throne. And now, it would ensure his death.

But now that she stood next to her helpless victim, however, Maythre hesitated. She was well accustomed to killing, but this wasn't the same as exploding a group of foes with a well-placed fireball. Then again, it wasn't as if she had much of a choice. She had convinced herself that it was either them, or her. The queen held the knife tightly and bent closer to the man's exposed neck, pressing the tip of the blade against the side of his throat. She swallowed hard and pressed down forcefully, then starting to pull the dagger towards her, ripping the man's jugular apart. Blood poured from the wound with force, and the sight of it made her sick, causing her to pause.

Suddenly, the unexpected happened. The man somehow shook off the effects of her spell, coming to his senses and starting to wail from the top of his lungs, trying to break free from his restraints. The knife fell from Maythre's frozen hands as she fell backwards, then backpedalling towards the wall where she crouched with horror etched on her face, watching the screaming prisoner quickly bleeding to death before her eyes. She could not endure the agonizing screams, instinctively sticking a finger up each ear, but even that did not drown out the sound completely, so she started to hum a merry tune, eerily discrepant with the grizzly sight before her.

It seemed like an eternity before the man finally went limp and stopped his pained cries. The blood still poured down the metal drain in a thick, slow stream, falling into the glass jar underneath. It was nearly flowing over now, so Maythre quickly pushed it aside and put a new jar in place, not willing to lose any of the precious fluid. Now she cursed herself for not listening to Zevran and gagging the man before, as she had forgotten that the blood control spells could occasionally break under the greatest of physical pain.

She brought the full jar of blood over to the table with the rest of the components, noticing how much blood had been splashed on the floor. That first gushing stream of blood had splattered everywhere, including her clothes, but there was nothing to be done about it. It was doubtful she could use all of it anyway before it grew too thick and useless.

Maythre flipped over Avernus research manuscript, back to the page where the final formulae had been scribbled down. Before she started to experiment with her modifications, she needed to see for herself how potent was the mixture Avernus had used to preserve himself. Twelve parts of pure blood to one part of lyrium dust, well stirred in a glass tube, she worked quickly before placing the sample into the old Tevinter machine. One spell later, a bolt of energy fizzed through the tube, causing some sort of reaction Maythre had no true understanding of.

She quickly withdrew the tube and then poured a few drops of the mixture into another tube that contained black, putrid and foul looking mass. The tainted blood of the darkspawn started to clear as soon as it came into contact with the test sample, the process continuing for good while, but the black blood did not clear thoroughly. Several large black clots swam in otherwise healthy looking dark red liquid.

Maythre finally allowed herself a big sigh of relief. The solution certainly was working. But it was far from perfect. Was this truly the best that Avernus could conjure simply working with blood and lyrium? And it had taken him nearly hundred of victims over the course of many years to arrive… to this? The question was now, would she continue to try and work with just blood and lyrium, or would she start experimenting with the precious ashes right away.

After quick but decisive deliberations, Maythre concluded that there simply was not enough blood supply to pursue both directions. She still felt that her best chances lay with the 'holy' ashes. Their effect on purifying Eamon had been remarkable. If it did something like that to the darkspawn blood, then… well, it opened up a lot of possibilities. She would try a combination that involved the ashes, but before mixing up another batch she replaced another blood collecting jar, seeing as the second one was now almost full again. Maythre took one of the full jars and brought it over to the window, placing it outside in the cold, hoping that it would keep the blood from thickening. Avernus had advised against trying to preserve the blood by any means, but she wanted to see it for herself. If she could not somehow make the blood last a bit longer, the few prisoners they had might not be enough.

She returned to the table, frantically starting to mix different compositions.

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 24:4:1. _

The result seemed… promising. Initially, the test sample seemed muddier, but as soon as the heavy particles subsided, she could clearly see that there were less of the dark clots remaining than with the previous sample. It was considerably better, but still far from perfect. At least her hunch had been spot on and the ashes of Andraste appeared to improve the solution greatly. Now there were two paths to pursue, even though the obvious logic would dictate to simply increase the amount of ashes, sometimes the right course was not as apparent. She would try two more different versions.

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 12:2:1. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 48:8:1. _

The end result in both cases was the same as the first mixture that contained the ashes. Maythre was utterly dumbfounded by this result. The amount of ashes didn't matter at all, as long as it was there? Or was the size of the dosages too small to have an effect on the result and show any difference? What should she do next anyway?

She sat down at the table and started to make her own calculations on an empty sheet of paper. Either she increased the portion of the ashes significantly, or experimented with different proportions of blood and lyrium, at a constant amount of the ashes. The first option was not appealing, the ashes were a limited resource, and rather unique in its origin. She doubted there were many other chosen of the Maker that she could harvest for their blood. So, she'd have to go with the second option, daunting as it seemed.

When she finally decided on formulae to try next, upon returning to the glass jar with the blood, she discovered that it had already gone bad and unusable. She retrieved the jar with the blood she had tried to preserve by placing it out in the cold and then mixed in the simple starting formulae, simply to test if the blood was still of any use. It wasn't. The darkspawn blood stayed thick black, undiluted. For whatever strange reason, it was no longer working.

She had only gotten four combinations from the first victim, and while it had given a reasonably successful result, she simply was not sure if she would have enough supply, now that it was clear that the blood could not be preserved. No wonder Avernus had gone through so many bodies. Suddenly she regretted agreeing with Cauthrien and giving the order to execute the guards, as she could have done with six more bodies. But it was already done and dwelling over it wouldn't change anything. Knowing Cauthrien, she had already carried her task out by now.

Maythre now knew that to minimize the waste of blood, she would need to do more research and plan on contingencies, depending on how the first sample progressed. She could probably do seven or eight tests before the blood went bad. That meant she needed to plan seven or eight steps ahead. And that in turn meant she had an evening of heavy research ahead of her.

She collected her own scribbles along with the manuscripts of Avernus and left the gruesome scene of her bloody experiments. Not surprisingly, she ran into Zevran immediately upon arriving on the main floor of the tower.

"How did it go? I thought I heard screaming," he looked concerned.

"It went fine," Maythre replied curtly, she did not want to remember the gargling and the death rattle of the victim… except that she couldn't quite wipe the image out of her mind. An invisible hand clenched her stomach hard, nearly forcing her to vomit and she could barely restrain herself, shuddering heavily. "Remove the body and clean up a bit, will you," she managed. Zevran looked a little pained at her brusque manner. "I learned a lot, but it only provided me with the need to study more and more," she allowed a little explanation. Then she walked away.

* * *

><p>Cauthrien waited a few nights, until her little group had left the mountain passes leading to Soldier's Peak, before following through on her orders. It was far more convenient to leave bloodied corpses on the side of the well travelled road from Lake Calenhad and the lands of Bannorn to Denerim, where the attack could easily be blamed on bandits or Anora sympathizers, eager to kill proud and honest guards loyal to Maythre.<p>

That night she retired to her solitary tent and instead of crawling into the damp sleeping bag, simply threw a blanket over her armoured frame. And then she sat and waited. The voices of guards around the fireplace died down soon, nobody was too keen on spending much time outside their tents in the cold and snow, and eventually only idle chatter of the two men on the watch duty occasionally broke the silence.

Still, she waited a couple more hours, until the guards started to lose their alertness and struggled to ward off sleep. The conversations around the fireplace had long since died down by the time she kicked off her blankets and swiftly emerged from the tent.

One of the guards managed to look sleepily surprised at her appearance. "Anything wrong, Cauth-" the Summer Sword came around in a sweeping arc, nearly taking the man's head off his shoulders. He fell down from the tree-stump with a quiet thud, but the other guard didn't even break out from his reverie. Cauthrien wasted no time before impaling the man from behind, the sword passing between the shoulder-blades almost until reaching the pommel such was the ferocity of the thrust. The man slid off the sword with a quiet grunt, killed instantly from the deadly blow.

Cauthrien stopped and looked around, trying to overhear any noise coming from the larger tent where the rest of the guards slept. It was all silent, except for a few snores. She contemplated crawling inside to deal with the rest, but then realized that her greatsword would not be as effective in such close quarters. An idea suddenly crept into her mind. She bent down and swiftly picked up a piece of burning wood from the fireplace, hastily throwing it onto the tent. A few more pieces followed, not an entirely pleasant exercise as the burning heat singed her fingers even through the enchanted gauntlets, but soon enough the tent was on fire, flames spreading quickly.

"Fire! Fire!" one of the men yelled, diving out of the tent with his smallclothes already burning. He emerged right in front of Cauthrien, who didn't even blink before cleanly beheading the hapless man. Another one who was following him didn't have any chance to react. The body of his headless friend hadn't even hit the ground when the merciless general ran the man through, sword slicing through his lungs. He fell down next to his dead mate, in no hurry to ever get up.

The third of the guards in the tent who had decided to follow his friends, finally caught the wind of what was happening, and was now trying to backpedal into the burning tent to try and escape in another direction. "Levy, run! Cauthrien has gone ma-Aaaaaah!" he suddenly yelled when Cauthrien's heavy boot crushed his hand against the cold ground, rendering him unable to escape. While he struggled, Cauthrien simply impaled him from above, the sword pinning him to the frozen ground, like a specimen in a butterfly collection. He twitched violently for a few seconds until Cauthrien brutally twisted the sword, and a pained shriek later, the man lay lifeless.

The last of the guards, Levy, ducked out of the smouldering tent on the other side and set into a frantic run, a daring escape fuelled by sense of panic. Without even thinking about how to best chase the escapee down, Cauthrien quickly grabbed a throwing knife from the body of one of the guards at her feet. Levy had managed to gain about twenty five yards on her, perhaps a little more, but running across this heavy snow with only socks on was anything but fast. The knife whizzed through the air and hit Levy right at the base of the neck. The poor man almost somersaulted from the impact then somehow got up, gargling and struggling with the knife impaled in his throat. That was never going to end well and soon enough he fell face down into the snow and lay still.

Cauthrien stood there for a while, watching her handiwork. She briefly wondered if she ought to feel anything, remorse or satisfaction, but as always lately, there was just absolutely nothing. She stuck out her tongue, catching a few errant snowflakes. Icy cold, she could feel them at least.

She took her tent apart and carefully packed her belongings before getting on the horseback. One last look at the scene of carnage and then she was off, riding hard in the direction of Denerim.

Behind her, the snowstorm worked tirelessly to cover and hide the smouldering campsite.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 of 4**

Russ Pardo, The Brander of Gwaren.

Pardo was arrested three years ago for rape and murder of nine young women in the city of Gwaren. After raping and strangling each of his victims, he branded the corpse with a single letter, burned into their forehead. The letters together formed an anagram of the name 'Russ Pardo'. To this day, this remains the only 'evidence' against him in this case. The man himself never confessed to the crime, not even under months of torture in Fort Drakon.

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 6:2:1. No improvement. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 24:2:1. Marginal improvement, points to increase the portion of blood. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 48:2:1. Sample does not cause a reaction. _

_Addendum: caused a reaction 2 hours 25 minutes later, insufficient potency. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 36:2:1. Slight improvement again, will try slightly reducing the amount of blood again. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 30:2:1. Sample failed, blood rendered unusable. _

* * *

><p>Wal Ziestoff, leader of anti-elven protests in Denerim.<p>

Ziestoff disappeared from his home in Denerim two years ago under mysterious circumstances. The man had made himself famous for loudly opposing Queen Maythre's plans to reduce some of the restrictions imposed on the alienage elves, and had led several violent attacks on the members of the elven community. His presence in Drakon was a result of a secret decree coming from the Queen herself, condemning the man to lifetime imprisonment, the routine of his long dull days broken up by regular torture sessions.

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 30:2:1. Sample shows definitive improvement. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 42:2:1. Not working, going back to first sample. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 27:2:1. Appears to be improvement, blood versus lyrium ratio between 13 and 15 to 1 most promising, will work within these limits. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 33:2:1. Not as good. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 28:2:1. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 29:2:1. Difference between samples so small now, have to wait several hours to observe which is better. By then blood is useless again. _

* * *

><p>Name unknown, only known by his alias, The Silent Man.<p>

This Tal'Vashoth mercenary was brought to Ferelden at early age by one of the Orlesian chevaliers in the army of the usurper King Meghren. Intended to be a source of amusement in the court, he eventually used an opportunity in the battle to kill his master, steal his horse and belongings and then switch sides on the battlefield swearing eternal loyalty to Maric and Loghain. The Tal'Vashoth has since been obsessed with serving the Theirin bloodline, and after Maythre's decisive defeat of Anora, The Silent Man made an attempt to take her life, killing seven of the Queen's personal guard before being subdued and shipped to Fort Drakon.

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 57:4:1. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 59:4:1. I have to mix more samples at once as getting only two combinations out of one subject is unacceptable. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 55:4:1. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 58:4:1. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 61:4:1. 13 and 3/4 to 1 ratio best, but can it be narrowed down even more? These scales don't seem to be accurate enough. The solution is almost workable now, though! Oh and the blood has gone bad again. _

_Will continue working with this combination of blood and lyrium for now. Tomorrow trying this together with different amounts of the ashes, and if that doesn't have an effect... I suppose this solution could already buy me a few dozens of years, but I had hoped for more. And I don't have to give up until we still have plenty of bodies down in the cells. _

* * *

><p>Lin Thorben, a petty thief and otherwise unremarkable criminal.<p>

Documents unavailable to larger public however, identify this man as Brother Yulith Argerom, trusted advisor to the Grand Cleric of the Chantry and outspoken opponent to Queen Maythre's plans to grant more rights to the Circle of Magi and removal of the templar presence from the tower at Lake Calenhad. Shortly after his arrival in Drakon, Yulith had his tongue removed and his fingers mangled in a way that ensured he would never be able to reveal his true identity to anyone.

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 110:8:3. _

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 55:4:2._

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 110:8:5._

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 55:4:3._

_Blood, lyrium, ashes, 55:4:4. Should I mix even more samples? They could be too far off the mark and I would just waste the ashes for no good reason. _

_After wait of three hours, no difference between the samples. I didn't risk going higher with the ashes, wasted effort, will require research, very disappointed. _

_Addendum: Came to the tower late in the evening and the last sample is nearly pure! Going up with the volume of the ashes is the right thing to do! I am shaking with excitement, sending Zevran to bring up another subject right now. I must work all night!_

* * *

><p>Fredric Roveaux, former ambassador of Orlais to the court of Denerim.<p>

Roveaux was instituted to his post during Anora's reign, as she hoped to receive the Orlesian aid in order to stay on the throne. After Anora's death, Roveaux made the mistake of not returning to Orlais. Instead, he attempted to make arrangements with the scattered Anora's loyalists, promising them three legions of chevaliers in return for large concessions of Ferelden lands. After Eamon and Maythre's hold on the throne became unquestionable, Orlais chose to forget all knowledge of Roveaux and any embarrassing plans he might have been asked to carry out against the newly crowned ruling couple. The torture rack at Drakon saw much action afterwards.

_I have mixed twelve samples at once, constant ratio of blood and lyrium and steady increment of the ashes. Then went to bed, no point waiting in the tower, takes too much time. Couldn't sleep, too excited, excess energy, Zevran finally of some use. He seemed happy though. Sex was good, admittedly. _

_In the end, 55:4:9 combination best, it is fully pure except one or two very small dark stains. Probably usable, but could refine the blood and lyrium ratio to be even more potent. Will need to tinker with the scales, try to make them a bit more accurate. I still have plenty of ashes and lyrium to experiment with. Immortality is at my fingertips, why should I stop now? _

* * *

><p>Days flew one by one, almost developing a kind of a routine for her. First came a hearty breakfast together with Zevran, during which she laid out the preparation plan for the next batch of samples. Then a quick walk over to the tower, breathing in the pleasantly crispy and cool mountain air, before she got to work again, double checking each test sample and making adjustments to her plans if there was any deviation from last night. By the time she was ready Zevran would arrive with another one of the prisoners, which she then subdued with her blood magic, strapped them into the bloodletting device and slit their throats. Even that had become easy and comfortable, part of the routine, even if she always had to turn away after, unable to watch the blood slowly drip and collect into the glass vessels.<p>

This seemed like one of those days again, but somehow when Zevran showed up with a fearful, resigned looking chained prisoner, she immediately sensed something was wrong in the way her lover avoided her stare.

"So… I haven't asked lately how your research is going…" Zevran finally asked, as she was busy strapping the hapless victim into the device.

"I've had some great progress. Ever since we modified those scales, I've been able to get incredibly exact measurements," Maythre said excitedly, then pausing. "Wait, why do you ask?"

"You're not going to like this," Zevran looked uncomfortable. "I have had… difficulties, handling the prisoners lately. They… they see their fellows taken out one by one and never returning, so I'm sure they realized their own turn will be soon. Some stopped eating in protest."

"You should have brought those to me first," Maythre snapped.

"I did that," Zevran sighed. "But last night… two of them decided not to wait until I come and take them away. They smashed backs of their heads against the brick wall until… well, you can imagine. I found them dead this morning, lying there in pools of blood. Don't think it was of any use to you by then."

"I can't believe this! We should have foreseen this, made some additional restraints… something!" Maythre fumed. "But I am so close, so perhaps their spiteful defiance will not hurt my plans after all. How many do we still have alive?"

Zevran coughed uncomfortably. Maythre's eyes widened. "This… is the last one? But it won't be enough! There is no way, I can make something, but it won't be perfect! Even if everything goes according to plan today, I will still need more to produce the cure in some reasonable quantities and now I will need to adjust my plan for today, too, this will take hours!"

"I'm sorry, my Queen," Zevran spoke up.

"Get out! GET OUT!" she shouted, reminded of his presence. "Don't come back here! I will need all day to deal with this now, so don't you dare to distract me!"

Even Zevran knew when it was better to turn and flee, and moments later Maythre found herself alone with the victim. She ignored him though, instead sitting down at the table, flipping over her research notes and starting to frantically make adjustments. Behind her, the blood control spell had worn off from the prisoner, strapped upside down in the device. The man was trying to cry out through the heavy gag, but Maythre simply ignored him, too focused on her work.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Maythre checked the samples with growing sense of desperation. She could see several combinations having made progress again, but they were not entirely perfect and simply offered several new paths to pursue. It appeared as if she would need to settle for one of them. And there would be no resources left to create a supply, in case the solution she mixed was less than perfect.<p>

Of course… there was a way, a completely mad and risky way, but the more she thought of it the more she realized that was what she needed to do. Maythre quickly gathered another empty glass jar and placed it on the table, then the sharpest of daggers and finally she loosely wrapped a piece of cloth around her left wrist, creating a makeshift tourniquet.

A small cut in the finger or anywhere else just wouldn't give enough blood in reasonable time. No, she needed to swiftly open a vein, fill enough of the jar and then quickly apply the tourniquet. Disturbing, certainly, but by now she felt she had become so accustomed to working with blood that it no longer bothered her.

She had decided on the most promising of the mixtures of blood, lyrium and the ashes. There was about one to ten chance that it would be the absolutely pure solution she was looking for. There was a one to three chance that it would be an improvement over anything she had created so far. Even so, she was out of options, and she would have to consume it no matter what. With this thought, Maythre finally brought a dagger to her forearm, seeking out where thin blue vein bulged under her skin and made a quick incision, grimacing in pain.

She quickly turned her hand and allowed the blood to flow freely into the jar placed below. It wasn't filling as fast as she had imagined, not like when cutting the throats of those chained men. Still, somehow the slow, heavy drops of her own blood felt even more unnerving to watch, and yet it was so fascinating she couldn't take her eyes off it. Strange weakness, complete with shivers, seized her suddenly. The image of her first victim, screaming in pain, gurgling as his own blood poured from his mouth while being bled alive, floated up in her mind, as much as she tried to fight it off.

The dripping of blood continued at steady pace, but when Maythre finally tore her eyes away to look at how much had collected in the vessel below, she was shocked to see that it wasn't nearly a third full yet. She gritted her teeth, feeling alarmingly light-headed, fighting against this strange paralyzing weakness. She should have used something more effective than this, surely. Suddenly, an image of herself strapped in the device shifted in the view of her mind's eye, her throat slashed open while she desperately struggled against the restraints. The image of her managed to bite through her gag to scream freely, only to choke on her own blood.

Maythre tried to shake off the horrible view, but to no avail. Her head so light, she felt like she was floating, a tiny sliver in violent waves of oceans of blood. She let out a small sigh, her eyes becoming clouded and unfocused. The sight of the dark red liquid slowly escaping her slashed wrist was sickening her to the very core and there was no way she could continue this and not faint. In the back of her mind, a shred of rational thought advised her to reach out for the tourniquet and tighten it, trying to stop the bleeding, but her hands refused, by now too limp to obey. Her thoughts spun in circles and she fell.

Her head hit the edge of the desk hard, instantly knocking her out. Unconscious, Maythre toppled on the floor, blood still pouring from her hand. The glass jar on the table also fell over from the impact, dangerously balanced on the edge and then fell down too, smashing on the floor next to her prone body. The pool of blood next to her grew more and more rapidly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 of 4**

Maythre opened her eyes. Above her, three large metal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling were spinning frantically, making circles that made her head hurt. She closed her eyes again, taking a deep breath and then opening her eyes again. The chandeliers were still spinning, but slower and slower, until they finally came to a halt, all merging into one as she eventually regained ability to focus on her surroundings.

She was back in her room on the second floor of the keep, alive and well. Quickly she withdrew her left arm to take a look at it. Clean bandage covered her forearm, and she also felt some wrappings around her head, though she could not recall any reason why that should have been done. Zevran must have saved her, she realized. Even though she had harshly chased him away and forbidden him to return to the tower, he must have sensed something was wrong. For once she was eternally grateful that the elf hadn't listened to her orders.

She struggled to throw off the sheets and then gingerly got out of the bed. It was taking altogether too much effort, and the room was spinning wildly again, making her see double. By leaning on various bits of furniture, she slowly started to make her way towards the door, when a heavy sound of someone's footsteps stopped her.

"What are you doing, you madwoman?" it was Zevran's voice. "You have suffered a concussion and should be in bed, not moving around!"

He walked over to her and easily lifted her off the ground, carrying her back to the bed, while she struggled helplessly. "Unhand me now, I order you! I must… I must continue my work…"

"It's not going anywhere," Zevran said soothingly, wrapping her in the bed sheets again. "Especially now that there are no subjects for testing left…"

"And whose fault is that!" Maythre snapped, but then instantly regretted it. The man had just saved her life, after all. "I'm sorry. I should be thanking you instead. How did you think of coming back anyway?"

Zevran shrugged. "I just had a bad feeling for some reason. You had stayed away for very long, and when I told you it was the last prisoner… I had this thought that you might consider doing something really stupid."

Maythre glared at him. "It was a perfectly logical thing to do."

"Sure, as evidenced by the results," Zevran smirked.

"What about my research? Now that you have confined me to this bed, could I at least spend time productively?" Maythre asked.

"I anticipated this question," Zevran grinned and pointed at a nearby table, housing all Maythre's scribbling, stacked in a neat pile. "If you promise to be a good little Queen and stay in bed for the next three days, you can have it."

"How dare you," she tried glaring again, but to no avail. Then she sighed. "Fine, have it your way. It's probably pointless anyway by now, I guess I'll be forbidden to cut myself again."

"You most certainly will," her lover said sternly. He hesitated for a moment. "So… you only needed a little bit of blood for that final test sample?"

"That and a little bit more for the actual cure, but it would not be life-threatening amount," Maythre explained. "It should have been perfectly safe, really. I just… somehow got sick from watching my blood slowly trickle away in that jar… no idea why."

"And that last sample, you think it would have worked?" Zevran asked.

"There was high chance of it," she replied, then catching on. "Wait… why are you so interested all of a sudden."

Zevran started to pace at the edge of her bed. "Well… it **is** my fault that two of the prisoners were able to kill themselves. I figured… if it's not too much blood you need."

"No. No, I'm not doing it!"

"But I insist."

"No! It's crazy talk! I won't have any of it!"

"Please! I know how much you need this, it's eating you up inside, if we don't resolve it here and now… it will consume you entirely!"

"I don't want to do this," she sobbed. "Not to you."

"It will only be a little bit, and it won't hurt. I've probably lost more blood getting stabbed, shot and incinerated during our travels!"

"It's not the same."

"I will remain completely and utterly adamant about this, my Queen. My blood is yours to use," Zevran said gravely.

"I… I will think about it…" she managed. "Could I have my notes now, please? Also..." she wrinkled her nose a bit. "Do I smell chicken broth? I'm hungry…"

* * *

><p>Several days passed. Previously, Maythre only had so little time to dedicate to research between her frantic lab test sessions, so it was no wonder that a few times she had missed a few details that could have helped her progress faster. Now, with nothing else to do, she could really concentrate on poking holes in some of her so far seemingly crystal clear theories. And she didn't like what she was seeing.<p>

The problem was that the odds of this last sample she had attempted to create to be pure were twice lower than she initially predicted. Not to mention that it now turned out that five other combinations had the exact equal odds to be as good. One of the six would be the right combination she had been looking for. Now she would have only one chance to guess which one of them was the right one. She didn't really like those odds.

But there was nothing to be done about it, was there. Zevran didn't need to know about these new developments. She would just have to take advantage of his sacrifice and create one of the combinations and perhaps a little reserve to go with it. It should be good enough to buy her anything from sixty to two hundred years, if her calculations were correct.

And wasn't that good enough?

* * *

><p>Finally, the day of the last experiment arrived. Her headaches seemed to have cleared completely, she could move about without any difficulty, and Zevran was content to allow her to continue their plan. The night before, they had made love several times, with much more passion than she normally allowed herself. On the morning, they celebrated their last day of stay in this accursed Keep with a rich breakfast, Zevran making good use of their last resources. There was no need to try to save them any longer, so some debauchery was allowed for. Then, together they carried Maythre's research notes back to the tower and started to prepare for the task ahead.<p>

"I won't have to be strapped into that horrible thing, will I?" Zevran asked with a chuckle, pointing at the bloodletting device.

"No, of course not," Maythre replied, working with the test substances on the table, getting everything ready. The control tubes were set, filled with last of the darkspawn blood. She took one of the tubes for the sample to be prepared and carefully added the necessary amount of lyrium and ashes. Now, all that was needed was a little bit of blood.

One out of six, her chances to achieve immortality. One out of six! There was heavy thundering in her temples, blood pressure rising from the stress and excitement, her thoughts racing frantically.

One out of six.

_Six out of six._

Hundred years.

_Immortality._

Zevran.

_One more body in my wake. _

Tender feelings?

_Necessity._

Lover_. _

_Witness._

Her hand reached out and grabbed five more sample tubes, automatically starting to fill them with the required amount of lyrium and ashes.

"That's quite a lot of them," Zevran chuckled behind her back. "Should I be worried?"

"Just being careful," she said hoarsely.

Everything was in place, but she found herself frozen to the table. She didn't want to go through with this, but there was this strange, irresistible pull, forcing her towards the inevitable. Maythre knew she was damned either way. She turned around slowly to face him.

"What's wrong, why are you crying?" Zevran asked, rising from the chair. She wasn't aware of the tears running down her cheeks. Everything seemed… unreal, in trance.

"Why did you have to offer? WHY?" she shouted, words echoing strangely inside her skull. "I don't want to do this! I don't want to! But I can't stop myself! I CAN'T STOP!"

Zevran made a move towards her, but then froze. The shocked expression on his face became passive, his shoulders slumped and he heavily strode towards the bloodletting device, starting to strap himself in. Tears still gushing down her face, Maythre advanced with knife in hand.

* * *

><p>Maythre had no recollection of anything that had happened during the day, after she had finished working on the samples. That too, had been done with her entire emotional processing capabilities shut off fully, operating on pure automatism. She had stumbled out of the tower afterwards, wandering off who knows where, and somehow coming back to partial senses late in the evening, shocked to find herself down in a cell of the keep's dungeon. Had she tried to lock herself up, she had no idea, but now she hurried back towards the Avernus' tower, where the samples awaited her examination.<p>

The first sight that her eyes sought out was that of Zevran's body hanging limply in that horrible device. She recoiled briefly, but it seemed as even the sight of it did not register with her fractured mind fully, and she strode towards the laboratory table and started to peruse the samples. She had been right, one of them was pure. The darkspawn blood had dissolved entirely without a single trace and the liquid in the tube was perfect, healthy. She had used up all the blood to mix up generous reserves of all six combinations, knowing one of them would be the right one. Now she lovingly caressed the large flask that held her realized dream of immortality.

She poured a fifth of it into another flask, and then, without hesitation, drank it to the full. The sensation was that of liquid fire filling her veins, being remade, cleansed in some sort of righteous flame. It passed quickly though, compared to the dreadful Joining it was actually quite pleasant, it felt… right. As soon as Maythre felt back in control of her senses, she grabbed a bag and started to fill it with the remaining components and test implements, finally packing in the flask with the cure as last, having sealed it into a metal tube to make sure the precious fluid would not be lost. Perhaps she would never need to take another dose of it. But it didn't hurt to have something in reserve.

Once she was done, she went back to the keep's yard and readied her horse, strapping all belongings on the mare's wide back. Then she went back to the tower. One last thing remained. She took Avernus' and her own research notes and scattered them all around the wide hall. Then she aimed a fireball right at that awful bloodletting device, still holding the corpse of her lover. The flames spread quickly across the wooden floor, licking their way towards where she stood in the doorframe, in safety. The Tevinter machine had also caught fire by now, starting to rumble and shake dangerously. Alerted, Maythre shut the door and started running down the stone steps.

She had made it about halfway, when huge detonation upstairs made her temporarily deaf and rocked the stairs under her. She fell over, tumbling among falling rocks from the height of several yards, landing painfully with a cracking sound somewhere in her hip area. Yelping from pain, she hobbled towards the exit, opened the heavy doors and crawled out on the snowy walkway back to the main keep. The tower behind her rumbled and shook violently, rocks falling from it, one bouncing awkwardly next to her. As she twisted to avoid it, another boulder hit her square on the left shoulder, knocking her back and over the side of the walkway. Screaming, she fell.

When Maythre awoke, it was already dark. She somehow managed to drag herself out of the drift of snow and then crawled on all fours towards the yard, unable to stand, her body bloodied and broken, barely hanging on to last threads of life. It felt like an eternity until she reached the horse, patiently waiting for her in the yard. Fortunately, her mare was of the placid kind and stayed calm even as she spent a long time to pull herself atop of the gentle animal. Maythre gripped the neck of the mare and nudged it on, with as much effort as her body could muster, screaming in pain. The horse trotted off, into the darkness of snowstorm.

* * *

><p>When Maythre opened her eyes next time, she thought that the sight before her was simply a cruel vision. Back in the Royal Palace, in her bedroom, with her husband's kind, elderly face concerned over her.<p>

"I think she's coming to," she could hear his voice, unreal as it was. She was surely still stuck somewhere in the wilderness, injured, wandering atop her grey mare.

"She should be fine now," another voice spoke. She recognized the young elven healer, Shilla. "Just remember, my Lord, try to keep her from exerting herself in any way. What she needs is rest, and plenty of it. I will come back later. No doubt you will want to talk in private first."

There was a sound of doors being closed. Maythre simply lay there for a while, her thoughts racing. Was it true? She was alive. Her body felt… mangled, but intact and not in any great pain. But how had she ended up back here?

She tried opening her eyes again. Eamon noticed it, taking her tiny hand in his, giant in comparison. "Welcome back, my Queen," he spoke with obvious relief.

"What happened?" she managed hoarsely.

"Ah, it was a true stroke of luck. Cauthrien took some guards and was on her way back to the keep, when you didn't arrive in Denerim the day you had agreed on. One of the guards spotted your horse wandering aimlessly near the side of the road, you were hanging barely conscious around its neck. Just think… if one of Anora's loyalists had seen and recognized you first…"

"My belongings…"

"Everything has been recovered, don't you worry," Eamon gently caressed her hand.

Everything started to come back, like a flood. The experiments, the deaths, seas of blood… Zevran! Spike of horror ran through her, making her shudder.

"Are you alright?" Eamon had felt it too, it seemed.

She slowly rose in the bed, staring at the opposite wall. "I need to wash my face."

"You shouldn't be walking about much, but I suppose that little won't hurt," Eamon nodded, helping her up, but she refused his aid, pushing his hands away and slowly limping to the small side-room on her own.

"But why were you out there all alone?" Eamon asked. "I thought Zevran would look after you."

"He… had to stay behind at the Keep," Maythre said, gritting her teeth as she reached the door. "Watch over some things." She disappeared into the bathroom, turning the lock on the doors from inside.

"I see," Eamon cleared his throat. "How is he doing?"

Maythre reached down to the washing basin and gathered some water, splashing it over her face, the pleasant coolness soothing her greatly. "My dear?" she heard Eamon's voice behind the doors. "I asked about Zevran."

Maythre straightened up, looking into the mirror in front of her. Ghostly pale, gaunt face with sunken eyes stared back. "Did you hear me, Maythre dear? How's Zevran?"

"How's Zevran," she repeated in a hollow voice. "How's Zevran," then she giggled. With a sudden movement, she crashed her forehead against the mirror, shattering it. Blood trickled down her brow in a thick stream. "How's Zevran," she giggled again. "How's Zevran? HOW'S ZEVRAN?"

**THE END**


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